In 1985, the ZX81 and the ZX Spectrum had taken the market by storm, but the Sinclair name no longer carried the same weight. Still, Sir Clive allowed himself to embark on a new adventure with electric vehicles. That is how the Sinclair C5 was born, an electric tricycle so ahead of its time that it was considered one of the most spectacular failures of British industry.
Once upon a time, there was a knight...
First came the ZX80 computer, followed shortly by the ZX81, and nearly a year later the world met the ZX Spectrum.
A conservative count speaks of seven million units sold among the three systems, not counting the huge number of clones that emerged later. Everyone knew who Clive Sinclair was. In January 1983, Sinclair Research was worth 136 million pounds, and in June of that year, Sinclair received a knighthood.
Everything seemed a dream... but troubles were not long in coming. The company launched the compact TV80 television in September, and only managed to sell 15,000 units, losing nearly four million pounds.
The Sinclair QL computer was announced in January 1984, and a combination of delays and multiple design problems turned it into a fiasco.
As if that were not enough, Sir Clive had something like an obsession with electric vehicles. In March 1983 he had formed Sinclair Vehicles Ltd. (with the money received from selling ten percent of Sinclair Research's shares), but it was not until January 1985 that Britain learned of his master plan: the Sinclair C5 tricycle.
Sinclair C5: "Vehicle, not a car"
The official presentation was a real spectacle, including a three-month advertising campaign with an investment of three million pounds. However, when the press had the chance to try the tricycle, it quickly became clear they were facing a disaster of epic proportions. Batteries draining in a matter of minutes (despite a very optimistic 32 kilometers of range), its total lack of resistance to harsh weather, and a complete sense of vulnerability in traffic condemned it from the start.
The fact that did not require a license limited the Sinclair C5 in other aspects, such as its maximum speed of 24 kilometers per hour. The entire advertising structure was also wrong. Sinclair did not hesitate to present the C5 as a serious vehicle, and a multi-purpose replacement for cars and motorcycles, while other people saw it merely as a more complex than normal toy. Another nail in the coffin of the Sinclair C5 was hammered by James Tye, president of the British Safety Council, with such a negative report issued two days before the official debut that Sinclair himself sued him for defamation.
Even with the interest of celebrities (Elton John and Arthur C. Clarke bought two each), squads of teenagers hired to ride around the streets of London, attempts to market it abroad and price cuts (from 399 pounds to 260, and then to 140 with all accessories), the fate of the Sinclair C5 was sealed.
In mid-August, Hoover (which had been manufacturing the C5 until that point) announced the cessation of its production. On September 19, Sinclair Vehicles changed its name, went into judicial administration in October, and was liquidated in November. That was a somber moment for investors when they discovered that Sir Clive would recover 5.9 million pounds, which he had placed as a repayable credit.
Out of a total of 14,000 units, barely around nine thousand were sold. Over time, the Sinclair C5 became a speculative investment for some (placing units abroad at exorbitant prices), and a collector's item for others, with modifications including jet propulsion and internal combustion engines.
Still, the Sinclair C5 remains an asterisk compared to the broad and successful career of Sir Clive, whom we have recently lost due to complications in his health. A true titan has left us, and the void he leaves is enormous. Farewell, Sir Clive, we are in your debt.
